“And kill them,” I add. “Kill them both! I’m your queen, you bastards!”
I’m blinded by rage, kicking and screaming against the footmen who hold me back, their arms locked around my chest. I don’t even know when they arrived. My vision blurs.
I’m in bed. My head hurts. My throat is raw.
I blink a few times, and then it all comes rushing back to me. Ethel’s body tangled up in the tree. Her hat on the ground. It was a lumpy purple thing. She put it on this morning to see me and now she’ll never wear it again. The thought of it lying in the dirt starts my sobbing anew.
Pig climbs onto my lap and I burrow my face into his fur.
The hope I held in my chest was a small flame, but a flame nonetheless; it flickered in the darkness. Ethel’s death is the blow that has snuffed it out.
After a few hours of sobbing in bed, no one checking on me, I position myself in the chair by the window. It’s closer to the fire and it feels less pathetic to be upright.
On the street below, life goes on. Ladies promenade, parasols balanced in their gloved hands, shiny carriages clatter by, and the green is dotted by a few picnic blankets.
But it all looks so bleak from up here.
Afternoon mist, blown in from the sea, pools in the streets below, giving the Crescent a seafoam-gray, dreamlike quality. The image of me, up here in this chair, must look serene from the outside, butinside I am raging. There is nothing sedate about my sadness. It’s vicious. A monster clawing at my rib cage from the inside. I’ll be shredded through completely soon if nothing is done.
It’s only been four months and Bram’s court has brought nothing but destabilization and horror to England. What will this country look like in another four months? In four years?
I’ll be queen of the ashes.
Or I’ll be dead.
Right now, I wish I was dead.
That’s new. I’ve never really wanted that before.
The sun sinks below the horizon. I’ve done nothing but sit in this chair by the window all day, letting the gray world pass me by.
But now my stomach is grumbling and I have no interest in sleeping.
Still in my dressing gown, I pad downstairs to the kitchens, and pass Bram and Rhion sitting in the dining room.
They’re discussing something intently over dinner. I hear the wordsforest, hunt, andqueen.
They pause when they see me in the doorway.
“Your Majesty, how lovely to see you.” Rhion greets me without a second glance at my limp hair and bare feet. Maybe he thinks this is a new human fashion trend. I’ll probably see him in a dressing gown at the next revel, with makeup mimicking dark bruises under his eyes.
“Oh, it’s you,” I reply weakly.
“Have you puzzled the answer yet?”
“I’m sorry?”
“To my riddle. What can you shatter with just one word?”
“Um—” I sputter. “I’m not sure. I was just looking for dinner.”
Rhion pats the seat next to him and I want to die. “Plenty of room here.”
I pause, desperate for some excuse.
Bram’s gaze levels me. “Don’t be rude, Ivy.”
I drag my feet across the carpet and sink down in the seat next to Rhion. “I don’t mean to interrupt your meeting.”
